It’s not just that I lied. I already know that.
It’s how many chances I had not to.
The first time enough memory came back, I could have told her. I could have said,It turns out my name is Luca Andretti, and my father sent me here to kill you, and I’m not going to do it, but you need to know that before anything else happens.
I didn’t.
Instead I pulled her closer in the dark and breathed in salt and coconut from her hair and told myselftomorrow.
Tomorrow in her kitchen, with the windows full of gray morning light and coffee grounds dusting the counter.
Tomorrow on the plane, with her on the carpet between my legs and every lie I’d ever told her still sitting right there on my tongue.
Tomorrow in Anna’s room, with the afternoon light catching the silver in her hair and her whole face softening when she looked at us together—like seeing Natalia happy was the only thing she’d been waiting for—and I smiled back knowing I was only giving her half my name.
Every single tomorrow I let wanting her outweigh what she deserved to know.
I kept my mouth shut because I was terrified of exactly what just happened. Her face. Her voice. The door clicking shut.
That’s not protecting someone. That’s hoarding them.
Stealing extra hours of something I already knew I was going to destroy.
I slam my fist into the carpet. It doesn’t even hurt. Thick hotel carpet, too much padding, no real damage done, which feels about right for a guy who’s spent his whole life finding ways to dodge consequences and then acting shocked when they finally show up and flatten him.
I do it again anyway. And again. Until the side of my hand throbs and my breathing has gone ragged.
That’s when I notice my face is wet.
I force myself to stop.
There is no bottom to this. I could sit here all day and inventory every bad choice that got me to this floor, this room, this version of myself, and none of it changes the only thing that matters now.
Natalia told me she needs space. And if this were only about me, if this were only about what I want, I’d give it to her. I’d stay the hell away and let her hate me in peace.
But this stopped being only about me the second I told Dario I wasn’t going to do it.
My family wanted her dead before I ever washed up on that beach. Me backing out doesn’t erase that.
And Natalia is heading back to a house they already know how to find.
This won’t stay buried forever. Lorenzo may not know yet, but he will, and when he does, he is not going to shrug and call the whole thing off because I finally developed a conscience.
If I’m out, someone else becomes the solution.
I need to talk to my father. That conversation is coming whether I want it or not, and the longer I put it off, the uglier it’s going to get. But tracking him down right now doesn’t get Natalia through the night.
What gets her through the night is making sure she doesn’t go back to that house alone while my family starts reacting to the fact that I’m out.
“Fuck.”
She can have all the space she wants once I know nobody is going to put a bullet in her head in that house.
I can’t fix what she overheard today. But I can make sure she stays alive.
And right now, that outranks everything.
I wash my face in the bathroom sink. The mirror gives me back a man who looks like he’s been hit by a truck, which feels fairly accurate. I call the terminal and tell them to have the plane ready, wheels up as soon as Ms. Kozlov gets there. No delays. No questions.
